Convergence
by Golem XIV
Summary: Modern day AU. Richard Grayson, CIA; Korrina Anders, MI-6; Leonid Kovar, FSB; detectives Logan and Stone, JCPD; all are on the trail of the mysterious assassin known as the Raven. The reason? She started working freelance. No superpowers, mature characters. Rated M for strong language, scenes and sexual innuendo, but no lemons planned.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

I was debating with myself for several days if I should go ahead with this story or not. It is kicking me out of my comfort zone in several ways. There are no superpowers, all characters are normal humans and they are a lot older (late twenties or so). Also, it is the first AU I'm doing, and I'm not a big fan of that particular type of story.

But as before, there is something that forces me to explore it, whispers _why not?_ and pushes me over the edge, like Poe's Imp of the Perverse. So I took the plunge, hoping for the best. I will be grateful for any well-intentioned criticism.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own the Teen Titans.

* * *

 **Convergence**

 _Prague, Czech Republic, Two Weeks Ago_

The middle-aged woman was tall and skinny, probably pretty many years ago, now desperately trying to recover some of the glories of her past with way too much makeup. Walking quickly through the light rain, she shivered slightly at the cold dampness of the early afternoon and went into a corner café, folding and shaking rain droplets off her umbrella.

Her cool eyes swept over the half-empty café until she found who she was looking for. She approached the booth where her companion was awaiting her and sat down across him, not bothering with greetings.

Her companion could never be accused of being handsome, that was certain. The low, heavy brow, deep set eyes, jutting chin and hairy arms gave him an ape-like appearance, almost that of a gorilla. And yet there was a sharp intelligence in those bestial eyes, even though it was easy to dismiss the man as barely above an animal intellectually. He did not mind; it made his opponents underestimate him, to their deep regret.

They sat and spoke quietly, their eyes sweeping around the small, cozy café constantly, alert to any possible signs of danger. Both glanced at the entrance as the small bells hanging over it chimed, announcing that the door was opening to admit a short, slim figure in. It was wrapped in a wet yellow plastic rain cloak against the drizzle outside, the hood up over the face, obscuring the features. As the newcomer walked in and came abreast of their booth, one gloved hand poked out from the rain cloak holding a phone, manipulating it in the familiar manner of a person frustrated because the phone would not react to fingers covered by gloves.

The deception was masterful, the slight movement under the voluminous cloak unseen by the alert couple. They were both good; one did not reach middle age in their line of work without being exceptionally adept. A sixth sense made them react, the ape-faced man's hand sliding under his jacket, the woman's hand groping behind her back. But they were too late.

The barrel of a Walther OSP appeared, barely protruding out of the rain cloak, barking out two .22 rounds with a sound not louder than a hard clapping of hands. They both dropped down, their legs still jerking and spasming, the heels scraping against the hard wooden floor, obeying contradictory signals coming from already dead brains.

The assassin took a step closer, avoiding the legs kicking ever more feebly and shot each one of them again through the eye, making sure that the job was completed fully, then turned around and calmly left the café as the other guests only just began realizing what was going on. Followed by a rising volume of shouting and screaming, the figure in the rain cloak quickly mingled with dozens of similarly clad people on the street, effectively disappearing from sight.

* * *

 _Jump City, California, Present Day_

Garfield Logan cursed. He was already running late, and now this unpredictable hold-up in traffic was making him even later. He craned his neck trying to see better what was going on, but the evening drizzle obscured everything beyond a hundred feet ahead.

"Fuck this!" he growled to himself, turned on the blue beacons and gave a couple of whoops with the siren, pulling his car out of the line and driving alongside it. Soon he was stopped by a cop in a wet slicker, his face frowning. Logan powered the window down and waved his Lieutenant-Detective badge at him.

"Gar Logan, Homicide. What's going on?"

"Guy lost control and drove off the cliff" the cop said grumpily, obviously pissed off at everything and everybody for being out in the rain when he could be warming himself both from without and from within in a much more pleasant environment. "The lab folks are looking the place over."

"Can you let me through? I'm late for a meeting."

"No can do, Loot. But you're welcome to try going over my head."

"If that's what it takes…"

The cop shrugged. "You'll have to see Detective Madariaga for that."

"Which one is he?"

"Guy with the pink umbrella" the cop snickered.

"What, he had to use his wife's?"

"That's what he says!"

Logan rolled his eyes at the cop's attempt at humor and left the car, opening his own umbrella and walking briskly over. He paused at the POLICE LINE – DO NOT CROSS tape and shouted at the closest lab technician.

"Hey, bro! Over here!"

The tech glanced at him and sauntered over. "What?"

Logan waved his badge at him, making the man's scowl soften into a frown. _The damn thing is sometimes almost a magic wand,_ he thought. "Gar Logan, Homicide. Wanna talk to Madariaga."

"Over there" the tech jerked a thumb back. "Guy with the –"

"The pink umbrella. Yeah, I know. Where do I walk?"

"Just keep off the oil slick. We're still taking pictures of it."

"Will do" Logan said and ducked under the tape, heading towards the pink umbrella, careful to skirt the large slick glistening in multicolored hues under the harsh spotlights placed by the lab crew.

"You Madariaga?" he asked. The man turned around, his eyes quickly taking in Logan's short stature and slight frame.

"Yah. And you're…"

He waved the magic badge again. "Logan. Homicide." _Maybe I should put a neon sign on my forehead so I don't have to repeat it every two minutes._ "What's going on?"

Madariaga's eyes narrowed. "Not a homicide" he answered in a hard, cold voice.

Logan sighed. "I'm not muscling in. I'm late for a meeting and I need to drive through."

"Should've said that first" Madariaga grumbled. Logan let it pass. Madariaga looked to the side and shouted.

"Sorella! Hey, Sorella!"

The cop with the slicker appeared from the drizzling mist. "Yeah, what?"

"Let His Lootness drive through and make sure he doesn't fuck up any evidence! Sooner I can see his tail lights, the happier I'll be!"

Sorella gave an exaggerated military salute. "Aye, aye, sir!"

"Moron!" Madariaga growled in a low voice.

"It's all love and pink unicorns with you guys, I see" Logan smirked, unable to resist. Madariaga gave him a murderous glare, then waved his hand. "Just fuck off."

Logan looked around. Perversely, Madariaga's attitude only increased his interest. Shrugging the feeling off, he decided that he forgot to bring any fucks to give and almost turned around and left, anxious to meet his appointment. Instead, he heard himself asking the question.

"What happened?"

"Oil slick on the pavement, probably from a truck leaking. U.S. Army staff car came into the curve too fast, lost control on the oil, crashed through the railing and dropped couple of hundred feet down. Driver and occupant dead. Meat wagon took the bits and pieces away a few minutes ago."

"Skid marks? Paint transfer between the vehicle and railing?"

"Lab guys already measured and photographed the skid marks" Madariaga replied, his voice getting colder while his face was getting redder. "They're taking samples of the paint from the railings and the car."

Logan cast an automatic, practiced look around the scene. One thing struck him right away.

"That's a big slick."

Madariaga stared hard at him, his face flushed. "Maybe it was a big truck."

"It's almost circular, Madariaga. If it was oil leaking from a truck, it would be splashed in a rough line over hundreds of yards, not in a circle twenty feet across. And there's simply too much of it."

"Is this your idea of 'not muscling in'?"

"I'm giving you a free lesson on how to do your job, detective!" Logan barked at him, his interest in the case now fully aroused. _And much of it just to spite you, Madariaga,_ he chuckled to himself. He noticed several small pieces of plastic on the pavement. He bent and carefully studied one, without touching it.

"Is this evidence?"

"Help yourself, they're all over the place. Must be from the same truck. Maybe they're pieces of the oil barrel it carried" Madariaga said acidly.

Logan looked at him, annoyed. "Were you born stupid or do you work hard on it? Look at the size! If a barrel of oil fell off a truck, it had to fucking _explode_ for the pieces to be so small!"

"Get your fucking ass off my fucking scene" Madariaga hissed. Logan ignored him. His trained eye looked for and found the center of the oil slick, noticing the pattern of the plastic pieces around it. He took out a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket and put them on, picking up the small, inch-and-a-half wide plastic shard and looking meticulously at it, turning it around to examine it from every angle, finally giving it a quick sniff.

 _Semtex. How about that. It_ did _explode. Probably just the lid. No need to wire all of it._

He straightened up, placed the plastic into an evidence bag and fished out his phone. He selected a name and dialed. While he waited for an answer, he glanced at Madariaga.

"Tough luck, detective. It is a homicide."

A voice came up on the phone. Logan turned his back on Madariaga and listened.

"Whassup, Shrimp? You coming?"

"Give the Captain my regrets and get your ass over to the Bridge Road _now_ , Cue Ball. We have work to do."

"Oh, no, you're not, Tinkerbell! You tell'im yourself. I ain't gonna let _my_ ass be raped just to cover _yours_."

"I'm on a murder scene, Eggshell. Start earning all that money they pay you."

"I hate you, Shorty. In this rain?"

"What, afraid the rain'll make you sprout hair?" Logan jested.

"I'll be there. And when I get there I'll tie a dime around your skinny feet and throw you into the ocean to drown."

Logan chuckled and cut off the call, turning back to Madariaga.

"My partner's on his way. We're taking over."

"Fuck you!" Madariaga snarled at him, turned around and strode away.

* * *

 _Langley, Virginia, Present Day_

Richard Grayson typed the number he wished to call on the terminal, activated the encryption and picked up the handset. After a couple of rings, a female voice replied.

"Hello, Dick. It is always the pleasure to hear you!"

He smiled in spite of himself.

"Hi, Kori. How are things in London?"

"There is too much of the rain."

"Here, too."

"You did not call for the weather report, Dick. How may I be of the assistance?"

"Mallah and Rouge."

There was a slight pause on the other side of the line. "That was more than two of the weeks ago. What about them?"

"I know. I've been working on it ever since and I am hitting my head against a wall. Did MI-6 order their execution?"

A pleasant laugh rang through. "Oh, Dick, you are always so much of the direct!"

"It's part of my charm" he said, grinning, even though she was not able to see him.

"You know I cannot give the answer to the question" she chided him.

Her avoidance annoyed him slightly, even though he was expecting it.

"Kori, it was her. The Raven. Five feet four, slight, not more than a hundred pounds. Short .22 rounds, probably from a Walther OSP. _Coup de grace_ in the eye. To say nothing of the sheer audacity to do it in a café in broad daylight. All the hallmarks are there."

"I will not be giving away the secret if I say that your evaluation is in the concordance with ours" she said, a playful tone in her voice.

 _Where does that accent come from? Where does_ she _come from?_ he wondered for what was easily the thousandth time. He pushed it away from his mind, wanting to concentrate on what was urgent.

"Kori, if the Raven is starting to work freelance we may have a big problem on our hands!"

"In this we are in the agreement."

"So?"

There was another, slightly longer pause. "It was not us."

"Any idea who?"

"We are pursuing several of the possibilities" she said, her voice turning colder. He knew he had pushed her as far as he could.

"So are we."

"Have you asked Leonid?"

"I'm calling him next" he replied.

"Let me know of the result of the inquiry" she said, her voice warming up again. "You do owe me the favor now."

"That I do, Kori. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Dick."

The line clicked dead.

He placed his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers, thinking. He finally decided that she was not lying and that her denial was genuine. It was time for the next call.

He selected the numbers on the terminal and waited for the reply.

"Richard Ivanovitch."

"Hello, Leo. Good morning, or whatever it is in Moscow."

The voice on the other side sounded cold and tired. "It is late night and you know that very well. I have been working long, Richard. I am exhausted and do not wish to speak. It was not us."

"How did you know what I wanted to ask?"

"It is obvious."

 _He is tired and making mistakes. I could push him and get the information, but if I do that I'll lose a valuable connection. I should be honest with him._

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Leo. I called to ask you about Mallah and Rouge."

A pause. "It was the Raven."

"I know that!" Richard snapped. "We are not that hopeless! I want to know if the FSB ordered it!"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"That is stupid question, Richard Ivanovitch. If you do not think I am sure, you would not call me to ask."

"You've got a point."

"And we have problem."

"Yes. If you did not order it, and we didn't…"

"What about Korrina?"

"I just talked to her. She denies it. I believe her."

"And I believe you. That means the Raven is selling her… services… on open market. It is dangerous."

"More than that. What should we do?"

"It may be necessary to require her to be… What is expression in English? Curtailed."

"I don't like that idea, Leo. She has been a useful tool before. Maybe we should look the other way for now. After all, Mallah and Rouge –"

" _Da,_ Mallah and Rouge were two top lieutenants of Brotherhood. World is better off without them, _nyet?_ "

"I agree with that."

"And what about General Ortiz?"

 _What is he talking about?_

"They have not briefed me yet" he said evasively.

A tired, dry chuckle came through the wires. "That is your problem, Richard Ivanovitch. Too many three-letter agencies. Too much of 'left hand does not know what right hand does'."

"I see. You thought I was calling because of that. As I said, I was not yet briefed –"

"Richard, my friend, I will give you information, and you will owe me favor. General Immanuel Ortiz was murdered in Jump City last night. Made to look like accident, oil on pavement caused his car to go out of control and crash."

"What does that have to do with Mallah and Rouge? And how was it discovered it was not an accident?"

"Your own file on Ortiz should be better than ours, Richard. It should answer your first question. And Jump City Police apparently has good detectives, _nyet?_ You should talk to them. You will find the _modus operandi_ very familiar. Very… disturbing."

"Are you telling me it was the Raven again?"

"It is wrong of me to pre-judge you. Look at it from your side and let me know what you think. If you agree that it was the Raven…"

"Then we will have to think of curtailment procedures" he said coldly, hating himself for it, knowing it had to be done.

" _Tak tochno_."

"I will check with the JCPD. Who are the detectives on the case?"

Leonid chuckled. "No, Richard. You do your own legwork. I already helped you too much."

"That you did, Leo. Get some rest!"

"I will. Good luck."

The line went dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Logan jogged out of his house, starting his usual five-mile trot. It was a beautiful morning, the air cleansed by yesterday's rain, the sky blue and the sun just rising. The day was starting crisp and cold, but the exercise would warm him up soon. He loped at a steady pace, keeping his rhythm, breathing in sync with his strides. His path led him alongside the dark, forbidding house he fancifully called the Fortress – a grim building that seemed to grow out of a rock that millennia ago had split away from the coast, and that was now joined to the mainland by a short, narrow wooden bridge, reminiscent of a drawbridge.

 _Must be quite inconvenient to live in it,_ he thought again for the hundredth time, same as every time he jogged past it. _No garage, and getting in or out in any weather is asking for trouble. The wind could blow you off that drawbridge, or you could slip on a puddle, or a wave –_

His train of thought was broken as a short, slim girl jogged out over the bridge and started trotting some fifteen feet ahead of him.

 _I've seen this one before in the neighborhood, but I never imagined she lived in the Fortress. What's a cute girl like her doing living in such a nasty place?_

Unconsciously he adjusted his pace to hers, keeping the fifteen or so feet between them, studying her from behind.

 _Good to know they still make them in those sizes. I hate having to look up into a girl's eyes. Five feet four… couple of inches shorter than me. Hope she doesn't like to wear high heels._

He continued to watch her, a grin appearing on his face.

 _Fuck, those are some nice legs. She may be short, but proportionally, her legs… Nice, long, curvy. Just enough muscle under the skin. A sight for sore eyes._

His grin widened as his gaze followed her legs while they jogged, up from the calves, up over knees and jiggling buttocks, up to where the creamy, pale skin disappeared under her sports shorts. His breathing started to lose sync with the pumping of his legs.

 _What an ass. Man, what an ass. Oh, mamma, all the things I'd love to do to that sweet ass of yours._

 _Shit, if I keep staring at that I'm gonna end up with a boner. I'd better get back to what I was doing._

Casting a final, regretful glance at the wonderful sight in front of him, he forced himself to look away and picked up his pace, soon catching up with her. As he came up beside, he looked at her, just as she turned her head to look at him. He stumbled, lost rhythm, recovered and caught up with her again.

 _Man! I've never seen eyes like that! They're… violet! The color of amethysts! And just as hard. That was one nasty look she gave me. Did she realize I was staring at her ass? Nah, how could she?_

"Hey, neighbor" he told her, flashing her his best grin.

She looked at him again, her eyes as cold as if they were dipped in liquid helium. She turned her gaze ahead, ignoring him as they trotted on.

 _I wonder if those eyes ever warm up. It would be a shame if they didn't, with that body… I would love to warm up those eyes, mamma. And some other parts of you._

"I live in the third house north of you. I've seen you around, but I never figured you lived in the Fortress."

She looked at him again, an eyebrow up, some of the coldness replaced by puzzlement.

"The Fortress?"

Her voice was low, almost hoarse, definitely not musical, but there was something in it that resonated in his brain. And a couple of feet lower. He chuckled, again losing his breathing rhythm. "Yeah, just a name I made up for that house of yours. Reminds me of those castles in Europe, you know, the ones they built on top of hills and mountains and stuff."

She grunted in reply, looking ahead. He stole a glance at her, noticing she was pointedly ignoring him. His gaze slid down to her chest.

 _Nice boobs. Not too big, not too small, just bouncy enough._

Her voice startled him. "Are you quite finished with the staring? Maybe you want to take a picture?"

His eyes snapped up and met hers.

 _Yeah, I see now that those eyes_ can _warm up. Maybe too much._ She was looking at him with undisguised hostility.

"I wasn't staring. I just glanced."

"Is there any difference?"

He frowned at her, throwing all caution to the wind. "Yes, there is. If there's a guy that can resist looking at that view, he's either gay or a eunuch!"

"You'd be surprised" she said dryly and went back to ignoring him.

He kept trotting beside her for half a minute. "I'm Garfield" he said finally. "Garfield Logan. Friends call me Gar."

She remained silent and slowed down her pace a little, probably expecting him to overtake her and leave her behind, alone.

 _Oh, no. I'm not gonna let you get away, mamma. You're way too hot to give up._

He adjusted his rhythm to hers, his eyes pulled unconsciously over to look at her face again, then dropping down to her bust. He forced his gaze quickly back ahead.

 _That is one sizzling piece of womanity. I gotta get through to her somehow._

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear his head. _Yeah, but being an asshole and staring at her tits is not gonna help, Garfield._

They jogged silently for another hundred yards, their strides matching, their breathing synchronized.

 _Why is she turning me on so much? Yeah, she's hot, like steaming, scorching hot, and it's been a while since last time I dipped it in anywhere, but… I guess I'm just overworked. Been covering for Eggshell too often, just so he can have fun banging Sarah, while I have to deal with the Cap and jerk off in the shower._

 _He never asked you to do it. You offered it yourself. And he did try to make it up to you, remember that double date they set up last week with Sarah's friend?_

 _Yeah, that one was kinda cute, but compared to this angel, she's… fucking outclassed. By three lengths._

 _Well, in that case you can stop your mental jerkoff and think of something to say!_

They came to the exercise area. He glanced at his stopwatch and frowned; his time was way up. They both slowed to a walk and started unlimbering and stretching.

He couldn't tear his eyes off her. Every movement she made presented him with yet another delicious part of her body for his eyes to enjoy. She stretched, her arms over her head, her breasts jutting out and leaving him with a dry mouth. She bent, her shorts tightening over that sweet, sweet double mound. His eyes roamed all over her, starting up from her long, shapely legs, her flat stomach, defiant tits, slender arms, her neck and throat, the curve of her chin, the soft, pale lips, pert nose, furious eyes…

He blinked.

"Sorry!" he said, flustered.

"Was that just a glance, too?"

He chuckled. "Nah. You caught me."

She sighed. "Look, I suppose I should feel complimented, but it's really making me uncomfortable. Would you mind not staring at me so much? Or at least stop drooling while you do it?"

His face was burning, and not from the exercise. "I said, I'm sorry. I'll try not to do it. But you're right that you should feel complimented. You're really an eyeful."

She lifted an eyebrow at him. He frowned, feeling an urge to explain, both to her and to himself.

"I'm… just overworked. Been pullin' double shifts several times last week. And the few weeks before that. The exercise helps me relax, but it does fuck all for… other things."

"So you're saying you find me attractive only because you're horny?"

He scowled. "You're twisting my words!"

"Am I?" she asked, her gaze still cold, but with a small spark of amusement flashing in those unsettling depths.

"Yes, you are. I don't have to be in heat to admire you. It's just… Ah, fuck it!" his cut himself off angrily and looked away. He turned his back on her, jumped and grabbed hold of the crossbar and started his series of pull-ups.

"I'm Rachel. Rachel Roth." It was an apology, and they both knew it.

"Nice name!" he said, continuing his exercise, not looking at her.

"I hate it."

This time he did turn his head. He dropped down to his feet and turned to face her.

"Why? At least it's not the name of a stupid cartoon cat."

She looked away. "It's… a name for old ladies and grannies."

He didn't have to be a cop to realize she was lying. But his finely honed senses told him that there was something that went much deeper. A wound that she carried inside. He felt a rush of sympathy and compassion for her, but quickly pushed it down. He knew that if she saw it in his eyes, she would clam up and that would be the end of it.

The best way to hide it would be to go on with his exercises. He dropped to the ground and started on the pushups. She observed him.

"Upper body day?"

"Yep" he replied, for some reason not keen on continuing the conversation. She, on the other hand, now was.

"So, what do you do for a living?"

"Eat and breathe" he replied sourly.

Her lips curled into a tiny smile, but he could not see it.

"OK, I'm sorry. I was out of line."

He finished the last pushup with effort and rose.

"Don't be. I guess I came out like a creep."

"You did. But at least you were sweet about it."

"Good to know" he grumbled.

"Look, I said I'm sorry –"

"I'm not angry at you!" he cut her off. "I'm angry at myself. I'm not usually this creepy."

"I certainly hope so."

His eyes shot up, meeting hers. _Was she… Nah, can't be. I'm imagining things._

"To answer your previous question, I'm a cop."

He was used to many people showing a slight unease when he told them what his profession was. He barely reacted to it by now. But when he saw it in her eyes, it was almost painful.

 _What's wrong with me? What is she doing to me?_

"I guess it can be useful to have a cop neighbor."

He frowned. "Not really, if it's a speeding ticket you're referring to" he replied coldly.

"I was referring to the security" she shot back, mirroring his coldness.

He rubbed his forehead with his hand and took a deep breath.

"Look, I'm sorry. I… I don't know what's wrong with me today. First I'm a creep, now I'm rude. Sorry."

She watched him for a few moments, thinking.

"How about we wipe the slate clean and go back to square one? As long as you stop staring at me, that is."

He grinned. "I'd love it. As long as you stop looking at me like something a dog left behind and you barely avoided stepping into."

A small smile appeared on her face. She offered him her hand.

"Rachel Roth, International Contract Law expert. Pleased to meet you."

He shook her hand. It was small, warm and delicate. It was also surprisingly strong. "Gar Logan, Lieutenant Detective, JCPD Homicide Division. The pleasure is mine. I like that smile, by the way."

"Don't get used to it" she said, but the smile remained on her face. "Didn't know they made Lieutenant Detectives so young."

He shrugged. "I'm good. And I have a good partner."

She glanced up the running path. "I should continue. I have four miles left."

"I'm doing five miles myself. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Would it change things if I said I did?"

He looked at her sharply, noticed the crooked smile on her face, shook his head.

"Not really" he replied with a grin.

"Well, then, let's go. My time is shot to hell already."

"I know what you mean" he growled and fell in step beside her.

They loped on in an easy, relaxing rhythm that devoured the distance quickly.

 _Good,_ he thought. _I've got my foot in the door. Didn't go the way I wanted precisely, but it's the end result that counts. Now I gotta be careful and not fuck it all up._

"Why were you doing double shifts? Lots of homicides?"

Her question startled him from his contemplation. "Yeah. Yeah, there always are. I used to split them with my partner so it was not that much of a burden, but he's got a girlfriend now, and…"

"I guess that means you don't."

He looked at her. She was gazing ahead, not meeting his eyes. _Well, well._

"That's right."

They ran silently for some time. "Any interesting cases?"

"I don't usually like to talk about it."

"Suit yourself."

He mentally slapped himself. _She's giving you an opening and you shut yourself out. Good job, Garfield._

"There's this one that happened last night. An Army general and his driver crashed and died. Looked like an accident, they were already wrapping it up, but I saw it and didn't like it. Turned out to be a homicide."

"What gave it away?"

He glanced at her. Her voice was the expressionless monotone that he was starting to recognize as her normal way of communication, but his keen ears and his cop sense felt a slight tension behind it. There were almost invisible stress lines in the corners of her mouth, but they disappeared after a few strides.

He dismissed it. He may have imagined it. "The car lost control over an oil slick. The detective on site thought it was oil leaking from a truck, but the pattern was all wrong. The oil didn't leak, it was dumped. Like ten gallons of it, in less than a second."

"You can tell all that from the pattern of the slick?"

"Of course. Hell, even Madariaga – the detective that was on site – even he could see that the pattern was off, but he just wanted to get it over with and get out of the rain. Good thing I came by."

"How do you dump ten gallons of oil in one second?"

"That's what made it a homicide. The perp made a mesh of Semtex strands, used it to blow the lid into pieces."

"Semtex?"

"Plastic explosive. When the victim's car approached, he set it off. The strands were narrow, very little explosive power, but enough to break the lid into little pieces. The oil simply rushed out."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just open the lid?"

"Think about it. You open the lid and try to upend a hundred-pound barrel full of oil just in time to do it in front of a car going what, fifty, sixty? Wouldn't work. The perp needed something reliable and instantaneous. He was probably driving a car in front of the victims, the barrel poking out from his trunk. Then at the right curve, bang! and ten gallons of oil slosh out in front of the victim's car."

"I still think you're stretching it."

"I am, but only in one sense."

"Which one?"

"I'm assuming that the killer, whoever he was, was working alone."

"Hmmm. Of course, if there were more of them, none of these elaborate preparations would be necessary."

"See? I'll make a detective out of you yet!" he grinned at her.

"International contract law pays better" she said, allowing herself a small smile.

"I bet it does."

"So, what now? I guess you're trying to trace the explosive. I've seen enough CSI to know that you can do it."

"Yeah" he said with a grin. "The barrel and the oil are just too common, but we'll still go through the motions. The explosive is our best lead. And the victims."

"Aren't they dead? Oh, wait. I see."

"Yep. I should be getting their files by the time I'm in my office. See who hates them, who gains from their death. I think that'll be my best bet so far."

They arrived at the next exercise area and he helped her by holding her calves while she did her abdominals. He pointedly looked at an undefined spot to the side until she was finished, so he couldn't see the small smirk that flashed on her face.

* * *

They were approaching the Fortress, almost finished with their circuit. As she split off to go home, he stopped and called after her.

"Hey, Rachel?"

She also stopped and turned around. "Yes?"

""I've enjoyed talking to you and I suppose I'd like to do some more of it. What would you say to dinner tonight?"

She looked at him with that expressionless gaze that was starting to become familiar. "I don't think so."

 _Fuck._

"Oh, OK. Well, see ya around, I guess." He turned to go.

"Garfield – Gar!"

He looked at her over his shoulder.

"Let's not get too ambitious. Maybe an evening coffee?"

He grinned. "Works for me! Seven?"

She nodded and jogged off.

He was still grinning when he got to his office two hours later.

* * *

She went straight for the shower, tossing the sweaty clothes into the hamper and getting under the blast of hot water.

 _I should be angry at myself. I couldn't resist his flirting, even though he is a neighbor, and I know better than to try to have anything with anyone that could remember me later._

 _And yet it turned out to be fortuitous. To run into the very detective that is investigating the Ortiz case. And to have him interested in me. And to have him talk to me about it, and reveal information that he usually would not reveal to anyone._

 _How far can I go with him? How long can I keep him at arm's length while squeezing information from him, before he tires and gives up on me?_

 _He's got nice eyes._

She sighed. _It's been a while for me, too. Maybe I should go again to a singles bar, get drunk and let some asshole pick me up, then nurse the regret and the hangover the next day. Like I do every time I feel that my needs are getting out of control._

 _Maybe I can use him for that, too. Maybe I can let him get me drunk and… maybe the regret next day will be lesser, if the hangover isn't._

 _No. He's not the usual type of predator that haunts singles bars. He'd probably end up being a gentleman. Plus, he's a detective, and a good one, obviously. He's got a sharp mind. It's too much of a risk._

 _He_ is _cute…_

 _Come on, Rachel. You know you can only dream about that._

She toweled herself, put on a bathrobe and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. When it started whistling, she made tea and took her cup to the living room where she sat cross-legged on a finely woven, soft mat.

She sipped some tea, closed her eyes and continued with her thoughts.

 _All that thinking about sex and relationships is pointless. I should concentrate on the important stuff. The bad news is that he's figured out someone killed Ortiz and that it wasn't an accident. The good news is that I took that possibility into account. There is no way he can trace the barrel, the oil, the explosives or the station-wagon to me._

 _But he doesn't really need to. He's the least of my problems. By this time, his report is on Richard's, Kori's and Leo's desks. They'll know it was me. They already know about Prague, for sure. If it was left to me, I'd have done it differently, but the demand was for a public execution. Not much leeway there._

 _So the question now is what will the CIA, MI-6 and FSB do? Are they going to start hunting me? Or are they going to look the other way, considering who I'm targeting?_

 _I should start planning for the possibility that they'll come after me. That would mean I will need to move soon. Won't be a problem, I have several safe houses here and in other countries._

A crooked smile appeared on her face.

 _Hell, if I'll be moving, I may as well squeeze something out of it. I think Mr. Logan just got lucky._


	3. Chapter 3

On the flight to Jump City, Richard Grayson stretched, closed the last file and reviewed mentally what he had learned.

General Immanuel Ortiz, known to his men as "Immortiz" or "Immortus". Gained the nickname as a 2nd Lieutenant in Korea, where he led his platoon in a suicide assault on Chinese lines. There were only three survivors including him, one dying soon after from his wounds, the other living out the rest of his days in an asylum. Immortus received a field promotion and a cartload of decorations. The rest of his file read just about the same, except that as his rank got higher, the number of men he sacrificed rose proportionally. But he got the job done, and that's what counted. Interestingly enough, his men loved him, even though their probabilities of survival were a lot lower than under any other command.

After he became too old for front-line duty he was given the task of coordinating several DARPA projects. Richard smirked as he remembered that even his copy of the file had a lot of blackened-out material. He made a mental note to look into it. What kind of research was it? Why was it so secret that it had to be kept under heavy confidentiality twenty years later?

Then there was the court-martial. Most of it – including the charges – was blacked out. Immortus was acquitted, but he was obviously deemed not a good choice any more. He was given a series of administrative posts with important-sounding names but little influence. He performed all brilliantly, unsurprising since they required only a fraction of his capabilities.

It was pretty certain that Immortus was mixed in something shady, probably something that had to do with the research projects he led. Maybe that's where he'd find the link between him and the Raven.

Richard thoughts went on to the next file. Victor "Vic" Stone; Lieutenant-Detective, JCPD Homicide division. African-American, six feet four, shoulders to match, shaven head. Apparently a fashion statement or personal choice, not baldness. Promising athlete, excellent grades, fantastic career in front of him no matter what profession he chose – sports or engineering. Then came the accident, the two-year recovery, the loss of his scholarship and his athletic potentials, everything. The man's future was wiped out in one second of carelessness. He joined the Academy and finished it quickly, rising meteorically through the ranks. Richard shook his head as he saw him described as "easy-going", "laid-back" and "optimistic." After all that he went through, one would expect a more melancholic or even angry individual, but Victor Stone apparently decided to shrug everything off and rebuild his life. And he was managing well.

His partner, Garfield Logan. Now this was an interesting one. Five feet six – amazing they let him in the Academy in the first place – wiry build, does not look very menacing. Tell that to the three thugs that he took on single-handedly, each almost a foot taller and twice his mass. Decorated for that. Grim childhood, hard teenage years. Made it quickly to Lieutenant-Detective and probably won't go any further, considering his intolerance for petty office politicking and his penchant for not keeping his mouth shut. Aggressive, abrasive, brilliant.

 _Maybe I should hire him,_ passed through Richard's mind. _But we'd probably come to blows the first day._

 _These two're going to be a tough nut to crack. I'd better get some sleep._

He lowered his backrest, relaxed and drifted away.

* * *

"Hey, Chipmunk! You guys've got a visitor!"

"Who're you calling chipmunk, asshole?" Logan rose, his green eyes lighting up.

"Cool down and sit, Shrimp. He's baiting you. You're making an ass of yourself!"

"I'm gonna –" he growled, then shouted loudly. "I'm gonna rip off that tiny dick of yours and stuff it in your ear, Brodsky! It's a perfect fit!"

A wave of laughter coursed through the office. The affected scowled, opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it and walked away.

"You two Stone and Logan?"

"Yeah, whadda ya want?"

"Richard Grayson, CIA."

"Oh for fuck's sakes, you guys _breed?_ "

"Calm down, Tinkerbell" Stone said soothingly. He turned to Grayson. "I'm sorry for my partner. He's a bit high-strung and we just had an unpleasant visit –"

"– from yet another one of you oxymoron assholes!" Logan barked out.

"Another one? Oxymoron?"

"Army Intelligence" Stone explained in a gentle voice. He turned to Logan and spoke, drawling his words. "The sixpack's there, but someone's been chugging the beer!"

Grayson forced his face to remain calm. "Who was it?"

Logan was staring at his computer screen, ignoring him. Stone leaned over the desk, started slowly rummaging around it.

"Guy called… lemme see…" he looked under piles of papers, opened and closed drawers, making a show of looking for the name. He moved almost in slow motion.

Richard folded his arms across his chest. "That's Academy Awards material, but we're not in a theater. What was the name?"

Logan glanced at him, the hostility still in his eyes. He returned them to the screen, continuing to ignore him. Stone lifted his gaze, a relaxed smile on his lips. "Harper. Roy Harper."

"Roy as in Royal, Harper as in Asshole" Logan quipped, his voice still angry.

"What did he want?"

Stone frowned, but his voice was still slow and measured. "You're either stupid or insulting. In either case, I don't see much reason to keep talking to you."

Richard chuckled. "I suppose you're right. I'm sorry. So he was also interested in the Ortiz case."

"You see, Shorty? They ain't all so dumb." He turned his lazy gaze back at Grayson. "My opinion of you just rose from cockroach to spider. You're disgusting and ugly to look at, but you may still be somewhat useful."

"Look, you can drop the 'good cop, bad cop' act. I've got a job to do, you guys are my ticket to getting it done. How about we stop screwing around and start cooperating? It won't bite your ass off."

"Fuck that!" Logan said, giving up the pretense of ignoring Grayson. "Just turn around and go, Company man. There's nothing for you here. We don't wanna help you, and even if we did, we can't! We don't have zip. You buddy took everything away. Files, reports, evidence, _everything!_ They'll be conducting their own investigation."

"I see."

"I wonder if you do, CIA man" Stone said with equanimity, relaxed back in his chair, his fingers entwined over his flat belly. He looked like a large, dark-skinned, athletic Buddha. "I wonder if you do."

Richard watched them for a few moments, making up his mind.

"All right, Stone. Maybe we can help each other."

"Can we?" Stone gazed at him calmly.

"Just tell him to fuck off, Cue Ball!"

"Hush, Tinkerbell. Lemme handle this." He turned to Grayson. "What do you propose?"

"Is the sun over the yardarm?"

Stone's eyes flashed. "Somewhere in the world it is."

"Then let's go and talk about it."

* * *

Logan's face still wore a frown but he was already relaxed. Once he started talking about the Ortiz case he concentrated on it, forgetting his indignation, the words flowing freely. His partner watched him with detached amusement while Richard listened intently.

"– and I could sniff the Semtex on it. That was the clincher."

"Good nose."

Stone chuckled. "Yeah, Shorty's got a good nose. And ears. And eyes."

"What's your opinion on all this?"

Stone frowned. "It's too early for that."

"Speak for yourself, Eggshell" Logan said, shaking his head. "Mr. Royal Oxymoron Asshole was to be expected; Ortiz was an Army general, after all. They look after their own. But the presence of CIA means that whatever Ortiz was mixed up in was something shady, probably international in scope."

"That sounds reasonable" Grayson said, his face impassive. "But I can't confirm or deny it. Anything else?"

"The file we received on Ortiz had so much blackout that it was obvious he was doing little but secret stuff. Espionage, counter-intelligence, anti-terrorism, who knows? The only information we could get from his file was his name, rank and serial number! So no, not much else."

"Except…?"

"Ah, a perceptive one, aren't you? OK, I'll tell you, but it's a hunch, a gut feeling."

"Go ahead."

"I'll give you two possibilities, and they both rely on the assumption that Ortiz was doing something on the side. First, whoever Ortiz was dealing with got pissed off at him and hired a pro to get at him. Maybe Ortiz was looking for a bigger slice of the pie, maybe he got cold feet and threatened to spill. Maybe they simply concluded he was getting too old and decided it was necessary for him to… retire."

"And the other?

"That someone's muscling in on their turf."

"Why not someone with a grudge? A jealous husband? An insulted underling? Someone looking to replace him on his job?"

"This was a professional hit, Grayson! The perp knew how to handle Semtex very delicately! And there was another thing."

Richard lifted his eyebrow questioningly.

"Harper was scared. Scared shitless. He knows something."

"I do think he does" Richard spoke softly, the two cops not failing to hear it. They glanced at each other.

Grayson looked up at them. "You guys up for a little moonlighting?"

Stone frowned, Logan's eyes narrowed. "Whatcha mean?"

He opened his briefcase, looked inside and pulled out an official-looking form.

"We put your names on this, present it to your Captain and you guys are transferred over temporarily to the CIA as Assistant Investigators. The pay's probably better than what you're making now."

"That's not hard to imagine" Logan growled, looking at Stone. He turned to Richard, studying him. "And what makes ya think we'd go for this shit?"

"I have a feeling that you hate dropping a case just like that."

Logan snorted. "You think I care? We've got a backlog of cases as big as your budget, Company man! We're understaffed, overworked, and we don't take kindly to shits like you or Royal Asshole coming here, throwing your weight around and muscling in on us!" He grabbed the form and waved it in Richard's face. "We doan' need no steenking badges! Take a hike!" He finished by burying his face into his beer.

"I will put it a bit more mildly than my partner" Stone spoke, "but I agree with him. We've got enough work on our hands, and one case less to worry about can be nothing but a Godsend to us. Whatcha got to offer to top that?"

"Let's just say that I work in a department that has a very comprehensive database of potential perpetrators. We keep an eye on them."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Oh, fuck. You're in the pest control unit, aren'tcha?" Stone said nothing, but his frown was eloquent.

"Pest control?"

"Don't play Snow White with me, Grayson!"

Stone leaned over the table, his eyes glowing in anger. "So what is it, Grayson? You ordered the hit yourself, and now you're trying to find out how much we know? Or is it that one of your… _associates_ … was involved? Maybe doing something on the side, looking for some extra cash? Putting kids through college is murderously expensive these days, I hear!"

It was Richard's turn to frown dangerously. "I don't need to listen to this. I was hoping to get some help from you, and maybe offer you a better option later on. Screw it. Go back to your miserable lives and try not to become alcoholics by the time you're forty!" He rose from his chair and made to leave.

"Grayson!" Logan shouted after him. "You know who it was!"

Richard turned to face them again, his face expressionless. Logan was halfway up from his chair, Stone's hand placed restrainingly over his arm.

"You know who it was" Logan continued in a much softer voice, slowly sitting back down. "And you need a couple of flatfeet to do your legwork for ya!"

"Your imagination is really having a field day today" Richard replied coldly.

Logan glanced at Stone, then looked back at Grayson. "I'm coming after ya, Grayson. I'm coming after ya, and I'll find out who did it, and why, and under whose orders. And then I'm gonna bury ya!"

Richard gave him a cold smile. "I thought you didn't care."

Logan's face darkened, his lips pressing into a thin, hard line. _He's ready_ , Richard thought. _Now is the time to spring it._

"You'll never catch her without my help" he said, his smile widening slightly, a look of almost boyish mischievousness appearing in his eyes.

Logan and Stone glanced at each other.

"Her?" Logan said.

"Hook, line and sinker" Stone concluded with a sigh.

"Lemme see that again" Logan growled, taking the form and quickly scanning through it.

"Powers vested… US Government… persons listed hereunder… temporary transfer… offer full assistance… is there an 'or else' here?" he said, lifting his eyes to meet Richard's.

"The fine print."

"Figures. Hmmmm…. Up to twenty years… fine not less than… OK, this is indeed a shotgun. Whadda ya think, Cue Ball?"

"I think the Cap'n will shit through his nose when he sees it."

Logan chuckled, then looked at Grayson again. "You got yourself a deal. It's worth it, just to see the asshole's face when he reads it!"

"Good. Fill in your names, give it to your superior and report to me tomorrow afternoon. I'll have you sign the NDAs so I can tell you all that I know. Then we start working."

"Whoa! Did I hear that correctly? We get the whole morning off?"

"Think of it as a sign-up bonus" Grayson said, rose and left them.

Logan looked after him, sipped his beer and grinned at Stone. "So now we're CIA men. Can anything be worse than that?"

"The FBI" Stone said, deadpan. Logan guffawed, almost spilling his beer. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then looked at his watch.

"Right on time. Gotta go, have an appointment at seven."

"Appointment?"

He just grinned widely, got up and left.

* * *

He was a couple of minutes early, so he sat on a bench close to her door. As he waited for her, his mind started wandering through what happened during the day; reflecting on the Ortiz case, on Harper and especially on Grayson. He became so caught up in it that he didn't notice her sitting down beside him, watching him.

After half a minute he became aware of her and turned to look at her, startled.

"Huh? Oh, hi! Sorry, I was… I spaced out."

Her eyes were expressionless. "Thinking about something?"

"Uh… yeah, I guess so. It was an eventful day. Shall we?"

She nodded. They got up from the bench. "Where are we going? Somehow I have the idea you already have a place in mind" Logan said with a grin.

"I do" she replied monotonously. Logan's eyebrow went up.

 _Not that I expected her to jump in my lap, but this is getting to be pretty close to a "fuck you". Did I do something?_

"I'm asking because I don't think you have a car, so…"

"I don't. It's a couple of blocks away."

Again that monotonous, almost cold tone. He started to lose his patience, not that he carried much on himself. He stopped.

"Rachel?"

She turned to look at him.

"Listen" he said, allowing his annoyance to show. "I'm not holding a gun at your head. If you don't wanna go, I'm cool. Just say so."

She studied him. "What makes you say that?"

He frowned. "You look like you're going because it's an obligation. It's not. If you're not feeling comfortable, it'll be awkward for both and that's definitely not the intent."

"And what is the intent?"

He sighed, closed his eyes, tried to relax. "The intent is to spend a pleasant evening with you. I can't do that if you're gonna be cold and distant."

"Will it help if I giggle?"

He frowned. "Look, I really understand if you don't wanna go, I was a creep this morning. But if you're here just to be insulting, I've got better things to do!"

"I wasn't trying to be insulting, Garfield."

"Could've fooled me!"

She sighed. "I suppose I'm not very social and I'm not much given to showing my emotions. But I would like to spend a… pleasant evening with you, even if it doesn't look like it."

"I'll take your word for it" he said a bit stiffly. They resumed walking.

They spoke nothing until they arrived, sat and ordered. He had a cappuccino, she had herbal tea. He noticed that the tea was not served in teabags; the waiter brought a selection of small jars from which Rachel made a blend, placing small amounts from three separate jars into a teaball, which she then let steep in the hot water.

"What is that?" Logan asked, interested.

"Chamomile, thyme and sage."

He grinned. "I thought people drank those only when they're ill!"

"The aroma is pleasant and the act relaxes me" she said in a cool voice.

"There you go again."

She sighed. "I know. It's my normal way of communicating. You'll just have to get used to it."

"Your normal way of communicating with me was through anger, at least this morning" he teased with a grin.

A small smile appeared on her face. "Can you blame me?"

"I guess not" he said, his grin widening.

They fell silent, sipping their brews. Just as the silence started getting awkward, she spoke.

"You said you had an eventful day."

"I did. Not sure if I should…"

"Don't tell me if it's confidential. I understand, I deal in confidential contracts every day."

"I haven't signed any NDAs yet, so I guess it's not technically confidential…"

"NDAs are notoriously difficult to enforce, Garfield."

"Not this one."

"Oh?"

"We had a visit this morning, from a guy called Grayson. Richard Grayson. Works for the CIA."

Her eyes narrowed, her attention suddenly completely focused on him, palpably intense.

"What have you mixed yourself in, Gar?"

He chuckled. He felt a mindless satisfaction infuse him. _Is that concern for me that I see in you, mamma?_ "The Ortiz case. Remember what I told you this morning?"

She nodded, still studying him intently.

"Turns out my suspicions were correct. Someone took him out. Grayson seems to know who. He offered me and Cue Ball – my partner, Victor – he offered us to help him out as 'Assistant Investigators'."

"If this Grayson knows who it is, why doesn't he simply arrest him? Why does he need you?"

"He needs experienced cops. He needs guys that know how to interrogate a suspect or a witness, that know how to separate the wheat from the chaff. Someone that's used to knocking on doors and looking in garbage cans."

"So he wants you to do his legwork for him."

"Yeah. He looks like the planning type. Fit enough, wouldn't want to have to fight him, but more of a thinker than a doer."

"So are you" she said, her expression softening, the smile reappearing.

"I'm both. Anyway, it's not a he."

"Sorry?"

"He let it drop that the assassin is a she."

Her eyes widened for a moment. A small frown passed over his face. _That almost looked like fear._

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I'm just surprised that a… woman… would be a killer."

"Just as much as men, if not more. But I'll grant you, they're usually involved in crimes of passion. It's not common for them to be cold and calculating. Ruthless, yes. Even unmerciful. But not cold."

She forced a crooked smile on her face and hoped it looked genuine. "Maybe you don't know us yet."

He waved his hand dismissively. "I've seen hundreds of murders performed by women. I speak from experience."

She allowed herself to relax a little. _Now this is what I call getting lucky. If he's working directly for Richard, and on the Ortiz case… So Richard already suspects it was me. I wonder if Kori and Leo do, too. Probably. I must keep him close to me, so that I can pump him for information even after he signs the NDA. He has a sense of responsibility and he'll be reticent to divulge anything once he signs it, but if we get closer…_

 _And how do I do it? I am far from being an expert in seducing men._

The obvious answer stared into her face. She almost shuddered. _It will have to be that way._

"In any case…" he said, his eyes thoughtful.

"What?"

"No, I'm just thinking I've been monopolizing the conversation topics. What about you?"

"Don't apologize, your story is starting to sound like a spy thriller!"

He chuckled. "I guess it does. But I'd still like to know more about you."

She smiled. "What I do would bore you out of your skull, especially after that story of yours."

"I'd still like to know."

Her smile widened a bit. "I'm working on a friendly takeover of an overseas insurance concern by one of ours. Very hush-hush, very confidential."

"Sounds like common business practice, why the secrecy?"

She chuckled at him. "You obviously know little about these deals. Once the takeover is announced, the price of shares in both companies will shift by quite an important amount. I have a pretty good idea how it's going to go, but I can't do anything about it and I can't tell you anything about it either."

He lifted his eyebrow. "I still don't get it."

She sighed. "Insider trading, Garfield. The SEC is very touchy about it and their auditors are very thorough. And we're talking businesses here. Even a suspicion of insider trading would be catastrophic for the deal and for the parties involved, damaging their reputation and influencing their future deals with others."

He laughed. "OK, I get it. Nobody fears the Homicide Division or the CIA. It's the IRS and the SEC that are the bugbears."

Her smile turned slightly crooked. "Now you're starting to understand the real world, Gar!"

They spoke for a while yet. She was still cool and slightly aloof but he was starting to get used to it and it bothered him less. He could see that there was an interest beneath it, and he allowed himself a slight feeling of satisfaction as he listened to her.

After a while, they fell silent and she stifled a small yawn.

"Tired?"

"Yes, I was working all day. Will it be OK with you if we call it a night?"

"I could use some sleep myself."

They got up and started walking back to the Fortress. Her arm went around his. He fought the urge to look at her, trying to act as if it was completely normal and expected.

* * *

"How about a nightcap?" she asked, her voice still slightly cool, almost disinterested, as if she was inquiring about the weather.

"Don't see why not" he said, controlling his surprise, not letting it show.

 _Garfield Mark Logan, you play your cards right and you'll get lucky. Just don't let that stupid grin split your face in two._

She unlocked and opened the door, ushering them in. A touch of her hand turned the light on at the lowest setting, dispelling the gloom but not revealing details. She led him into the living room.

"Have a seat" she said, waving her hand at the couch. "What's your poison? I don't have much to offer, I'm afraid."

"Bourbon will be fine, if you have some."

"I do. Let me get mine from the kitchen."

She disappeared for a few seconds, giving him the chance to look around. An unexceptional living room, good but not expensive furniture, reproductions on the walls, some flowers in a glass vase. No family pictures, no mementos from travels, no proudly displayed accomplishments. It felt somewhat impersonal and sterile, like a hotel room.

She returned, carrying a bucket with ice, a frosted bottle of vodka and two glasses. She put some ice into his glass and filled it from a bottle that she took from the small bar.

"Here you go" she said, and sat across him cross-legged on a floor mat. She poured her vodka into a small glass that frosted over immediately and lifted it.

"So, what to?"

"Good things in life?"

"I can drink to that."

They clinked glasses and he sipped. She shook the entire contents of her small glass into herself without flinching. He lifted an eyebrow, but bit off his comment.

She poured herself another one.

"Tell me a bit about yourself" she said.

He frowned. "Not much to tell. You know who I am and what I do. Most of what I talk about is shop talk, and I don't think you'd be interested in JCPD office politics."

"Hobbies?"

"Staying alive when I'm on the street. Keeping myself from going crazy when I have to deal with the Graysons, the Harpers and their ilk. Jogging."

"That's existing, not living." She tossed another vodka down. _Was that the second or the third one? What the hell is she doing?_

"I used to love action movies when I was a teenager. And a lot of Sci-Fi. I used to know all eight parts of _Battle of the Planets_ by heart, and most of the tie-in TV series that came out after also."

"Big fan, huh?" Another one went to join the previous three.

"Yeah, you know how it is. I was –"

"No, I don't."

Her voice was steady and monotonous. He looked sharply at her. The dim lighting tried to hide it, but her pale features could not conceal the alcoholic flush creeping up her face.

"Rachel…"

"Sorry, didn't want to interrupt you. Go ahead."

"You may want to slow down a bit."

"It's a small glass" she dismissed him, tossing another one down.

"What are you doing?"

"Having a drink with you."

 _This is certainly getting weirder by the minute._

He finished his drink, deciding he'd had enough. He rose from the couch. "I'd better go. It's late."

"Wait" she said, lifted the vodka bottle and scraped off some of the frost that formed on its exterior to see how much was left. "There's still some vodka here."

She poured another shot and had it follow the others, refilling the glass again.

"Rachel, what the hell are you doing?"

"Getting drunk, you idiot. What does it look like?"

He stood there, trying to decide what to do. He knew he should just leave and not get involved in whatever troubles she was trying to drown, but he felt a need pulling him to stay, to remain and try to find out what was going on, why she was behaving the way she was.

While he was dueling with himself, she shook another shot in and refilled her glass. The frost around the vodka bottle was thawing, leaving only a little at the bottom. She had almost polished off the whole bottle.

"I'd better get you into bed" he growled.

"That was the idea, stupid."

He fought his anger down, bending over her to get the bottle away from her. She grabbed his wrist and with an expert flick she twisted it, making him lose his balance and fall on his back beside her.

"What the hell?"

"Aikido" she said, then in a quick move stripped off her T-shirt, immediately going for the sports bra under it.

He tried to raise himself off the floor, but she straddled him, not letting him get up.

"Rachel, what the fuck –"

"Do I have to draw you a picture?"

Her voice was monotonous, seemingly unaffected by the large amounts of alcohol she had drunk. It had a peculiar, distant quality.

Then it hit him. She wanted to perform an unpleasant task that had to be done. Like throwing out the garbage. Like going to the dentist. Like fucking Garfield Logan.

His rage burst out. "Fuck you!" he snarled, throwing her off him and struggling to get up. "Fuck you, Rachel!"

"See? You figured it out all by yourself."

His teeth clenched. "Where's your bedroom?"

"Upst – upstairs" she hiccupped.

He grabbed her wrists, trying to pull her up. She allowed him to get her to her feet.

"Let's get you to bed and forget about tonight, OK?" he said, trying to control himself.

She hiccupped again, her eyes slightly unfocused. He was still gripping her wrist. She looked at it and frowned.

"Leggo."

"Come on, I have to get you –"

She twisted, his arm pulled forward and bent, his body forced to spin around. She now stood behind him, holding his arm in a painful lock, immobilizing him.

"I said, let go" she hissed.

"All right, all right. I'm cool. I won't do anything" he said as soothingly as he could, his arm bent almost to snapping.

She released him. "Get me upstairs" she said, leaning heavily on him.

He took her around the waist and led her, stumbling, up the stairs. They reached her bedroom. He guided her in, pulled the sheets back and helped her lie down. She lifted her arms, beckoning.

"C'mere."

"Let me get your clothes off first" he said, playing for time. The vodka was starting to affect her heavily, but not enough yet. He just needed a few more minutes. He busied himself taking off her sneakers. He took his time, unlacing the first one and removing it slowly. It came off. As he started working on the second, he felt her foot rubbing against his thighs.

"Knock it off, willya?"

She giggled drunkenly, then yawned.

 _Good. A minute more and she'll pass out._

He got the second sneaker off and started undoing the belt of her jeans. Again he tried to do it slowly, giving time to the vodka to work its magic.

Her head was already lolling to the side, her eyes barely able to remain opened. He removed her jeans completely and folded them across a chair.

"I have to go to the bathroom" he said. "I'll be right back!"

"Waitferya" she muttered, almost done for. He went to the bathroom, closed the door and sat on the toilet seat, his elbows on his knees, staring at the tiles, eyes unfocused. He waited.

After a few minutes he snuck out and glanced into her bedroom. She was fast asleep. He covered her with a blanket, then went back to the bathroom, found some Aspirin and took two pills to her nightstand, leaving them there. It relaxed the blood vessels, allowing the body to cleanse itself quicker. He went to the kitchen, looked around and brought up a jug and a glass, filling them with water and leaving them on the nightstand also. That would help the dehydration.

He looked around, making sure he didn't forget anything.

 _I should go._

Making a decision, he went to the kitchen and searched around, coming up finally with a clean plastic pail. He took it upstairs, went to the bathroom, took a towel and wet it well under the faucet, squeezing out the excess water. He took all of that into her room, sitting in an armchair, watching her.

 _Shouldn't be long now._

She soon started to gag. He got to his feet, hurrying over. He held her while she threw up into the pail. He waited until the cramps were over, wiping her face with the wet towel.

"What're you… doing here?" she asked, dazed.

"Shut up."

A fresh series of heaves came over her. He held her again, helping her get over it. Again the spasms passed. He wiped her face with a clean corner of the towel, then gave her the two aspirins.

"Take this" he ordered, offering her the water also.

She took the pills and swallowed them without saying a word. He refilled the water glass from the jug. "Drink."

She drank the water. He refilled the glass. "Drink."

Again she emptied the glass. He refilled it. "Again."

She pushed the glass away. "Can't."

"OK."

He let her relax back into her pillow and she was instantly asleep again. He took the pail into the bathroom, emptied it into the toilet, washed it and rinsed several times until it was clean. He dropped the wet towel in the dirty laundry hamper, then took the cleaned pail downstairs to the kitchen, leaving it where he found it.

He went back upstairs and sat again in the armchair, watching her.

 _I should really go._

He didn't move. His eyelids started getting heavy.

 _It's not a good idea to be here when she wakes. Why am I still here? Genuine concern? Ghoulish curiosity?_

His thoughts chased each other for a few minutes more, then his head dropped.

* * *

"Garfield."

He lifted his head slowly, the pain in his neck reminding him of his position. He looked at her. She was standing, somewhat wobbly, wrapped in a blanket. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face even paler than usual.

"Why are you here?" she asked coldly.

"I don't really know. I've been asking myself the same question" he replied just as coldly and rose gingerly from the armchair, his spine and joints protesting the unnatural position they were in for hours.

"Please leave."

"Drink water, have a light breakfast and try to do some exercise. It will help get the toxins out quicker."

"Just go, please."

He nodded and went downstairs, leaving her house without turning back.


	4. Chapter 4

It was almost five AM when Logan got home, slamming the front door behind him and going straight to his bedroom, quickly undressing and falling into bed. But sleep could not get a grip on him.

 _What the fuck is_ wrong _with that woman?_

He turned to the other side, trying to push the thoughts away.

 _I don't think I've ever been so… For fuck's sakes, what did I_ do _to her?_

He kicked the blankets off himself, feeling hot and smothered.

 _If she finds me so fucking repulsive, why'd she wanna… What_ did _she want to do?_

He turned again, curling up.

 _What the hell was that all about? What was she trying to do? Why? Why me?_

He shivered. He was cold again. He reached down beside the bed, picked up the blankets and wrapped himself in them.

 _I just had to go and fuck it up again. Just like every other time. Just like with everybody else._

He buried his face in the pillow, trying to escape from his thoughts and get some sleep.

 _I just had to go and pick up the craziest, looniest, most fucked up girl I could find._

He turned on his back and stared at the ceiling.

 _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

He glanced at the clock. It was almost six AM. He kicked the blankets off, again feeling hot.

 _This is hopeless._

He straightened and sat on the bed, trying to blank his mind. Heaving a sigh, he got up and put on his training clothes.

 _Might as well run a little. Maybe it'll clear my mind._

He jogged out of the house, forcing himself to concentrate on his breathing and the rhythm of his movements. He studiously ignored the dark bulk of the Fortress as it got nearer, looking past it, straight ahead. He was so intent on not turning his eyes that way that he almost missed her sitting cross-legged on the drawbridge, waiting. For him, obviously.

Logan's first thought was to turn around and run his circuit in the opposite direction. His second thought was to give up the jogging and go back home.

He ground his teeth. _I never backed down from anybody, and I ain't gonna start now._

He continued, never changing his rhythm, never glancing at her. She picked herself up and trotted behind, quickly catching up with him. She fell into his pace, synchronizing her steps and her breathing to his. They ran on.

Logan ground his teeth again. _What the fuck does she want? To apologize? Does she really think anything she can say can make one fucking bit of difference?_

They trotted silently for a mile, until they reached the exercise area. Logan slowed and started stretching and bending, preparing for his standard series of the day. She also stretched, but while he pointedly kept his gaze away from her, she watched him intently.

He started his squats, his back turned to her. He heard the soft swish of her clothes and the almost inaudible scraping of her sneakers on the concrete as she approached. He continued his exercise, ignoring her.

She came over and stood in front of him, forcing him to either look at her or turn around and keep his back to her.

"I'm sorry."

"That's OK."

He continued his series. He had missed his count and had no idea how many squats he made. It did not matter. He kept staring at a point beside her.

"Look, I…"

"Please don't concern yourself."

His legs burned. That should be enough. He dropped to the ground, started on the sit-ups. This time he would count.

She clenched her fists. "Garfield…"

He paused his sit-ups, took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Rachel, what's done is done. Let's just forget it all and go our own ways, OK?"

"I still want to –"

"I don't care" he said, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. "I just don't wanna know. I don't wanna remember, I don't wanna think about it, OK? Just go. Leave. Fuck off."

Her eyes flashed. "Don't you _dare_ use such language with me!"

He looked at her coldly. "Or else what? Are you going to break my arm? Snap my neck? Do you really think that anything you could do to me would be worse than what you did already?"

Her face went a shade paler. _Interesting,_ he thought detachedly. _Between this, her natural paleness, the hangover and lack of sleep… I've seen corpses with more color in their faces._

"Garfield, it wasn't you –"

"Just shut up, Rachel, willya? Shut up and go away!"

He rose, stretched and trotted away. She didn't follow.

* * *

She got home and went to the kitchen, busying her mind with the task of making tea. She carried the steaming mug to the living room and sat on the mat. She closed her eyes and took a careful sip of the scalding brew.

 _I've offended him._

She sighed. _I seem to have a talent for understatement. What I did was tell him that I find him repellent. Loathsome._

She took another sip, welcoming the pain that the hot liquid caused on her tongue.

 _I acted on impulse. This is not usual for me. I wanted to get him closer so I could have access to the information he has and will have, but…_

 _It was not only that. I've never acted on impulse before. Not where men are concerned._

Another sip of tea. Her tongue was numb already. She ignored it.

 _I feel attracted to him. That, and the need for information, made me act foolishly._

She frowned, her eyes still closed.

 _Stop deceiving yourself, Rachel. You wanted him, just like you wanted… Mal. Maybe more._

Her frown deepened, the knuckles holding the mug whitening.

 _I knew he was different from… the others. Not surprising, considering the kind of men I usually deal with._

Her jaw muscles tightened as her teeth ground together.

 _So what did you expect? The places where you look for men attract the worst examples of their kind. Like Mal. And then you're surprised that a normal guy reacts in a normal way to your… insinuation._

A ball of pain formed in her gut. _It would be nice if I could… be normal. If I could be… If I could relax and let someone… be with me._

The pain grew, the agony lancing through her chest, her gut, her loins. She fought the memories, but they clawed at her mind, rending her, tearing her apart. She bent, trying to find relief. The mug fell on the floor, spilling what was left of the tea. Her hands went to her ears, covering them, trying to stop the ghosts of the words from coming back.

 _You are mine now, dear daughter. I made you mine, and you will stay so._

* * *

The shower didn't help. It never did. That stain could not be washed out with soap and water. But she felt soiled and needed to at least go through the motions of cleansing herself. As she toweled, a phone rang. A small frown appeared on her face as she recognized the ring tone.

 _Now this, on top of all._

She walked over to her purse and removed a cheap brick phone from it, answering it.

"I have another target for you, Raven" a silky voice came through.

"I was just starting to get bored."

There was a slight chuckle on the other end. "Don't tell me you're enjoying it."

"You don't seem to be capable of recognizing sarcasm."

"Oh, but I am. It is just that it does not affect me."

"Before you give me the details, there is one thing we need to clear up."

"The usual assurances will be included –"

"No. It does not matter any more."

"It does not?"

"No. You've been holding it over my head three times now. You have no intent of stopping unless I stop you first."

"I see. I must say I expected this earlier."

"Let us just say that I was very… concerned."

"So the choice of hostage was well made. Good to know."

"Yes, the choice was good. But no matter how good, it has its limits. We have reached them. _I_ have reached them."

"The threat remains, you know."

"That is why I will give you a counter-proposal."

"I am listening."

"I will finish this job. It will be the last one. Once it is done, you will release her, alive and unharmed."

"And what do you offer in return?"

"Safety. Your safety. And your employer's."

"How can you harm me if you don't even know me?"

She snorted. "You underestimate me. There are only three freelance operators that would have the capability and the guts to use such tactics in order to ensure my cooperation. One is currently in hospital, recovering and out of the equation, and I happen to know what another one is doing. That leaves only you… Mr. Wilson."

This time the chuckle was audible. "I am impressed."

"You shouldn't be. You should have expected it."

"Maybe I did."

"Maybe. In any case, my proposal is that. I will finish this job, you will release her, and I will forget about you. Until next time, if there is one."

"That is up to my employer to decide."

"Remind your employer that the CIA, MI-6 and FSB already know that I did the Prague job and that they're suspecting I was behind the Ortiz assassination. I may be in their sights already. After this job they won't even bother with an investigation. My usefulness to you will be severely reduced."

"I have already made that clear to him."

"Good, because if he does not agree, then I will have to find him and show him how mistaken he is. And the best way to obtain information about him will be from you."

There was no chuckle at the other end this time. "That may prove to be… difficult."

"Don't be so certain, Mr. Wilson. We all have a pain limit. Even you. The higher it is, the more you will suffer, but you _will_ tell me in the end."

"You sound quite sure of yourself."

"That is because I am."

A pause. "Very well. I will forward your proposal to my employer. Meanwhile, you will find the instructions and information, together with proof of her well-being, in the third dead-drop. Start as soon as you can."

"Today sounds good."

The line went dead.

* * *

Logan got into Stone's car and growled a greeting, his hand going for the car entertainment system and turning the music off. Stone started driving, not commenting. They drove in silence.

"She dumped you?" Stone asked finally.

"What?" Logan asked, surprised, then understood what Stone was talking about. His eyes narrowed, a dangerous green glow shining in them.

"Y'all was grinning yesterday" Stone said. "Had an 'appointment'. Not difficult to deduce it was a female one. And now you look like a cat that just dragged itself out of a sewer."

"Fuck off, Eggshell!"

Stone sighed, still not looking at Logan, busy driving.

"If y'all don't wanna talk 'bout it, then y'all don't" he said placatingly.

"It's none of your fucking business!"

Stone looked at him, frowning, then returned his attention to the road.

"There's a line in the sand, Garfield. I hope you find out where it is before you step over it."

Logan pressed his fingers on his forehead. "I'm sorry, Cue Ball. I'm just…"

"Yeah, I can see that." Stone's voice was still cold.

"I just don't know what the fuck's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you, Shrimp. Except that you're short, skinny, have a foul temper and a fouler mouth."

Logan chuckled. "Y'know, you're the only one that was able to endure it for more than ten minutes." He looked at Stone. "And you still do."

Stone grunted. The silence fell between them again, but the tension was gone.

After a while, Stone spoke. "How 'bout we finish with Grayson, then go somewhere and get smashed? Then y'all can tell me all about it."

"If you know a place that has good bourbon…"

"I know'em all."

"You got yourself a deal, Tenpin!"

Stone parked in front of Grayson's hotel and they went in.

* * *

Grayson was expecting them. He offered them seats and called Room Service for coffee.

"First things first" he said. "Let's get these NDAs out of the way. The stuff you're going to see and hear is highly confidential, and if you even whisper it in your sleep I'll find out and you'll be spending what little remains of your lives in an off-shore holding facility surrounded by some very colorful characters."

Logan grinned. "What, you're not gonna set one of your buddies on us?"

Richard grinned back. "I'll answer that when you sign."

They signed the documents and Grayson compared the signatures with the ones on their IDs. Logan noted he was conscientious; the routine nature of the task did not make him perform it any less carefully. Satisfied, Grayson stored the documents in his briefcase and sat down, crossing his legs and looking at Logan and Stone.

"All right, let's get started. You were right, Logan. I am in the 'pest control' unit. I actually lead it. We keep an eye on the worst scum that crawls over this planet, and we sometimes have to take specific measures against them."

Logan and Stone listened carefully, frowning. Grayson sighed inwardly. _The idea bothers them. It goes way beyond of what their morality allows. They'll get used to it eventually, but it will take time._

"Now before you guys start thinking we're some kind of secret police or death squad, you must know that there are as many checks and balances as confidentiality allows."

"Such as?" Logan growled at him.

"No curtailment may proceed on the order of just one person. There has to be a consensus of all parties involved."

"And who may these parties be?" Stone queried in a neutral voice.

"We'll skip that for the moment, but I can tell you that not all are local. We have an advisory body consisting of us, the MI-6 and the FSB."

"The Brits and the Russkies? How do they get to have a say –"

"Think, Logan. It was done so we could concentrate on the _real_ dangers. Otherwise this unit would degenerate into a tool for applying political pressure."

"You mean, assassinating heads of state of… uncooperative governments?"

"Exactly. So we don't do that. We used to have the Mossad involved also, but we were too tame for them, apparently, so they pulled out. We're trying to get the Chinese on line, but they still prefer to do things their way. In any case, between the three of us, we're covering a good chunk of interested parties."

"That only puts a sugar cube on a very bitter pill, Grayson" Stone said, scowling. "You're playing judge, jury and executioner. I don't like it."

Grayson took a sip of his coffee. "As fascinating as a discussion on morality may be, we currently don't have the time to indulge. I'll give you a few minutes to think about it and decide if you want in or not."

"What happens if we don't?"

"Come on, Logan! Do you really think we'd go after you just because you said no?"

"One never knows with your kind" Logan growled.

Grayson frowned, but let it pass. "If you say no, you finish your coffee, get the hell out of here and keep your mouths shut. You signed the NDA, so I've got legal authority to prosecute you in a secret trial and send you away for a very long time if you don't watch your tongues."

"Fuck it. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want in. You with me, Cue Ball?"

Stone frowned, tapping his forefinger on his lips for a few seconds.

"I'm in" he said, still frowning, looking at Logan. "Someone's gotta keep an eye on you."

"OK, now that we have that out of the way, let's get started" Grayson shifted more comfortably in his chair and sipped his coffee.

"Bit more than two weeks ago, two top lieutenants of the Brotherhood were assassinated in Prague. Execution-style job. Quick and smooth, in public. We have some surveillance footage and we are absolutely certain who did it."

"The Brotherhood?"

"International criminal and terrorist organization. They deal in everything you can think of. Drugs, gun running, slavery, organ trafficking, you name it, they've got their arms up to their shoulders in it."

"And this assassination… I suppose it was the same guy – gal – that did Ortiz in?"

"That's a theory for the time being, and one you will work on to prove or disprove it."

Grayson typed something on his laptop and turned it around. "Here's the footage."

Logan and Stone watched as the assassin calmly walked into the café, executed the couple and walked out.

Logan whistled softly. "Talk about cool. This gal is dry ice dipped in liquid nitrogen."

"Didn't see the gun" Stone said. "Way they dropped, it's small caliber. Nine millimeters or less."

"Short .22" Grayson said. "Walther OSP. Competition gun."

"The best choice if you know how to use it. Doesn't really need a silencer, but you'd need to be close to the target."

"She knows how to use it."

"Yeah, that's obvious."

"Name? Picture?"

"She's only known as 'the Raven'. No name known. No picture of her face exists. Only a few surveillance shots like this one. Short – five four, five five – slim, maybe a hundred pounds. Relatively young, good reflexes. In good physical condition."

"One of yours?"

Grayson nodded. "We have used her before, in several occasions."

"So how do you contact her?"

"Dead drops."

"Did you try to follow the pickup?"

"The whole idea behind the dead drop is to avoid that possibility, Logan!"

"So I guess she's too smart for ya!" Logan grinned.

Grayson sighed. "She is. And not only for us. Just about everybody has tried – and is still trying – to get a handle on her."

"Does she work on the side often?"

"She never did, until Prague. That's what worries us. She's extremely good; one of the top three in the business, but she never went freelance that we know."

"So if she has started freelancing…"

"She must be curtailed."

Stone's frown was turning into a scowl. "Y'all just love your euphemisms, don'tcha? Curtailed?"

Grayson looked coldly at him. "It keeps us sane" he said quietly.

Stone snorted derisively but did not comment further.

Grayson stood up. "I want to handle this in two parallel investigations. The first one will be the Raven. The second one will be Ortiz. Which one do you want?"

"I'll take Ortiz" Logan said. "I know it a bit better than Eggshell here; I started the damn thing, after all." He glanced quizzically at Stone. "You cool with that, bro?"

Stone nodded. "OK, I'll go after the girl. Maybe I'll dig up some nude pics" he concluded with a leer.

* * *

It was late night when Logan stretched, his neck and back crackling.

"Wanna call it a night, Tenpin?"

"Yeah. My head hurts."

"Listen, how 'bout a rain check on the invitation?"

Stone lifted his eyebrow. "If you say so, Shorty."

"Nothing like work to keep your mind from unpleasant things" Logan said with a grin.

"Sure you don't wanna tell me about it?"

"Nah. I'll live."

"Unfortunately for the rest of us" Stone chuckled. "Drive y'all home?"

"No need" Grayson said, entering from the adjoining room. "I've got rooms for you on this floor. Here are the keys." He handed each a magnetic-strip door pass. "Go and get some dinner, then sleep. We start early tomorrow and we have a full day ahead."

"You won't join us?"

"I've got a few things to do still" he said. "What are you waiting for?"

"I guess we're being dismissed, Shrimp. Let's get some food."

"Right behind ya, bro. They do vegan in this dump?"

They filed out. As soon as the door closed, Grayson plugged a set of headphones into the laptop and selected a name. The phone rang.

"Harper."

"Roy, it's Dick. Still working?"

There was a slight pause on the other side. "Long time no hear, bud. What can I do for you?"

"So, how're things in Army Intelligence?"

"We're fine. Is this a social call, Dick? I'm busy."

"It's not. How's the Ortiz case going?"

Another pause. "Well, we have a suspect…"

"So do we. So does everyone else. The question is, do you have anything solid?"

"I couldn't tell you even if I had."

 _That means no,_ Grayson thought.

"Sorry to hear that. Can I offer any assistance?"

"We've got it covered, Dick. Of course, if you happen to run into anything, do let me know."

 _And that means 'I'll take all I can get'._

"Of course, Roy. I guess I can leave the case in your capable hands, then?"

"Sure."

"Keep me up to date of all new developments, OK?"

"Will do."

Grayson disconnected and sat, thinking.

 _He's stuck, and he'll remain stuck. It will only become a problem if they decide to take matters into their own hands._

He started working. He needed to prepare all the files and information for Stone and Logan for tomorrow morning.

* * *

She studied the man she was going to kill soon. Description, psych profile, habits. Last known location. All the myriad bits of information that one needs for a job like this.

 _I end up knowing them better than their closest friends. And then I kill them._

After an hour of work, she rose and looked in a drawer for a virgin brick phone. She dialed a number.

"Yeah, who's pestering?"

"Hi, Gizmo. It's me."

"You? Hey, sweetie! What can I do for you?"

"Usual stuff."

"OK, passport, barrel and firing pin for the Walther, prepaid card with ten grand credit and three virgin phones, right?"

"That's it."

"Visas?"

"Argentina, Chile and Brazil."

"OK, I'll add a few phone cards. No extra charge."

"You know how to treat your regulars, Giz."

"Sure do. How do you want them delivered?"

"Hmmm. Teleflora?"

A chuckle. "I prefer porn myself. Flowers it is."

"I'll be waiting. Usual price?"

"Same as last time."

"I'll wire it to you before I leave."

"You do that. And you take care of yourself, ya hear?"

"You too, Giz."

She hung up, removed the SIM card from the phone and burned it in an ashtray, crushing the remains and washing the ashtray carefully. The phone will be disposed of into two or three separate garbage containers later.

She opened her laptop and browsed to a travel site to finish her arrangements.

* * *

Stone frowned. He was working all morning through the few bits of information that were available on the Raven. There was nothing that would point even to an indirect clue about her identity. Money transfers went through a maze of Cayman Islands, Ireland and Luxembourg shell companies, banks and institutions, diluting and losing themselves in an accountant's nightmare. Any pictures or footage that caught her only showed a very general idea of her size and constitution, her face always obscured, usually hidden behind a hood or mask. Even the fact that she was a woman could only be inferred by the more delicate structure of her gloved hands, the way she moved and the general posture.

He went through a report that listed all arrivals and departures to and from Prague up to a week before and after the assassination, filtered by females of similar body structure, then compared to similar information from previous cases in order to find any coincidences. There were none.

Stone compared all listings to known competition-shooting practitioners. Nothing.

He expanded his search to include older women and men. She could pass disguised as a sweet old lady or as an old, bent man. Zip.

He checked listings of all females of similar build in all hotels and lodgings in Prague in that time frame. Nope.

He stretched, trying to clear his mind. His eyes fell on Logan. He had an unusual look on his face, the one he had when he found a lead and was following it.

 _The bloodhound has found the scent. Good._

"Find anything, Tinkerbell?"

Logan grunted in response, not looking up from the screen. He definitely had something.

Stone walked over to the table and poured himself some fresh coffee, looking with amusement at his partner.

"Coffee?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Want me to piss in it?"

"Mmmkay."

Stone dropped a cup of fresh coffee beside him. "You know, one of these days I'm really gonna do it, and I bet you won't even notice."

Logan just took a sip of the coffee and grunted, still completely absorbed in what he was doing.

Stone rolled his eyes and sat back down in front of his own screen. For another two hours he played with lists, reports, analyses, comparisons and expert opinions. The only thing he managed to obtain was a headache.

He stretched again, just as Grayson walked in, another stack of reports under his arm. "How's it going?"

"I'm stuck. Nah, forget that. It implies I was moving. I never left the starting line."

Grayson grinned. "Don't be too harsh on yourself. The best people in the business from more than ten nations are trying to crack that nut for years. You've been at it only a few hours."

Stone frowned. "Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better!"

Grayson chuckled, then looked at Logan. "Any luck?"

Logan ignored him, still completely focused on what he was doing. Stone got up and placed a hand on Richard's shoulder.

"Let him be. I know that expression and that attitude. He's working on a hunch, and he'll be zoned out until he has something solid."

"How long will that take?"

"Beats me. Couple of hours. Though there was a case… He was at it for more than thirty hours straight, living on coffee and donuts and whatever food I dropped in front of him. He cracked the case, left me a report and passed out in front of the screen."

Logan looked up. "You could've left something better'n pizza, Cue Ball!"

"Hey, you're back in the land of awareness! Find anything?"

"Ortiz was working for the Brotherhood."

Grayson whistled softly. "So the Prague killings were a warning…"

"And he ignored it."

"Yes. So he had to be removed."

"Any idea who and why?"

"Who, not yet. Why? It looks like someone was muscling in on their turf. And since that someone already went through three of their top members, I'd say we're looking at a hostile takeover here."

"I see. Show me how you found all this out."

"Well, I found in the file you gave me that Ortiz was supplying arms to our 'allies' in Syria, and on a hunch I started tracing some of the serial numbers…"

Stone listened, a smile appearing on his face. _Good for ya, Shorty. You show Grayson that he made a good choice._ He frowned. _Now if only I could find anything on Mystery Girl there…_

He dove into his data, trying to find a new angle on it all. He concentrated on it, leaving Logan and Grayson to discuss their breakthrough.

After a while – he had no idea how much – a hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up to see Grayson regarding him, Logan snickering behind, as if he had just pulled a prank.

"Your passport is still valid?"

Stone lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah, I guess it is. Why?"

"We're going to South America."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes:**

Sorry for taking so long to update this story. I was in a writer's block. Even though I knew what I wanted to say and even though I had a good idea of how to say it, somehow it simply did not flow into the keyboard until tonight. This is the end result. I hope you like it.

* * *

"You have brought someone with you" the man behind the huge desk stated the obvious, his voice carrying a strong note of displeasure.

He was sitting with his back to a large window, light streaming through it and leaving his face in shadows. In spite of the amount of illumination entering the room, it was still quite gloomy. It was an interesting effect, probably extremely difficult to achieve and therefore not natural or random, but the product of purpose and a lot of architectonic skill. The man's only discernible features were his powerful build and the long, silvery, almost white mane of hair falling well beyond his shoulders.

The second man present chuckled silently. His hand went up and scratched gently beneath the patch that covered the scar over what once was his right eye. _An annoying habit that comes out when I'm annoyed,_ he thought pointlessly.

"She is my… apprentice. She works for me. It was time for her to learn how a contract is… renegotiated."

"I see" the voice was almost a growl. "You wish a higher compensation for your efforts?"

The chuckle was louder this time. "No. I wish for you to take my advice seriously. This is as far as we can push her. Her usefulness to us is finished. She will not be pressured any more. Insisting on this course of action will only turn her against us, and that is something I do not want or care to worry about."

"Are you afraid of her?" the question was shot at him with a derisive snort.

"'Afraid' is not the correct term. 'Concerned' would be more precise."

"In other words, you're afraid."

He shrugged off the almost childish taunt. "Believe what you will. I have a reputation that I created over the years, in good part because I always refused to involve myself in situations that posed unacceptable levels of risk."

The white-maned man waved a dismissive hand. "I hired you for a job. Get on with it. The fact that she'll be useless as an assassin in the future is of no concern to me. I do not need her for that particular skillset."

"I realize that. After all, I could have done the jobs myself, without all these twisted, convoluted complications that you insisted on."

"Why are we talking about this, then?"

"Because you are not listening to me. Because she will not tolerate any more pressure. Because the danger has become too great."

"Don't tell me you can't deal with her!"

The mercenary shook his head. "You are underestimating her. I could try 'dealing' with her, but the probability that I may fail is high. The probability that I may succeed but end up severely wounded or otherwise incapable of continuing my career is even higher. This is not something I will risk for a simple contract."

"Then what will you risk it for?" the man in the shadows asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Nothing that you can offer."

"Revenge? Respect?"

"She has done nothing for me to revenge myself. And as far as respect is concerned, I am the best, and you know it. You wouldn't have hired me otherwise. And I intend to stay that way for a while yet. That means not taking unnecessary risks."

"What you are saying is that our partnership ends here."

"That is correct."

"In that case I will have to look for a replacement. You have been paid in full. Please do not take more of my time."

"Just one more thing" the mercenary said, his voice suddenly cold and businesslike. "To clarify the status of the hostage. There are certain unwritten rules about this. I will release her, but she will be under my responsibility for a further twenty four hours. After that, she's fair game. If… someone… tries to get hold of the hostage before the twenty four hours have expired, I will suspect your interference, and I will react accordingly."

The man behind the desk leaned forward, his voice a deadly hiss. "Are you threatening me?"

"I am stating a fact" the mercenary replied flatly, undaunted by a tone he had heard so many times from so many others. "You can put any interpretation you wish on it."

The one-eyed mercenary and his silent companion vanished soundlessly from the office. The man behind the desk clasped his hands before him. The smile on his face was hidden by the shadows. It was the smile of a man whose plans were developing just as he had expected.

* * *

"I'm not afraid of her" the blonde, blue-eyed girl said, almost pouting.

"You should be" he replied as he scratched, irritated, under the eye patch.

"Because you are?"

His arm uncoiled like a striking snake and the slap threw her against the wall.

"Why am I punishing you?" he asked in an impersonal voice as he approached her. She fought off the urge to curl in fear as she watched his menacing bulk stalk like a large predatory cat towards her. She stood up, facing him. Anything else would only bring more punishment down on her.

"Because I disrespected you" she said. She didn't even see his fist as it flew and connected with the side of her head, throwing it sideways, her ear ringing.

"Incorrect" he said calmly while towering over her. "I don't care for or need your respect. Why am I punishing you?"

Fear shone in her eyes. What was he trying to say? Did she misread him?

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't want to –"

His fist sank into her gut. She doubled over, fighting for breath, trying not to throw up. She felt him grip her hair and yank it up so she could look into his eye.

" _Why am I punishing you?_ " he asked, his voice soft, as silky as it was deadly.

She felt panic surge through her. She knew he was fully capable of beating her to death if he considered that she wasn't learning whatever lesson he was trying to teach her. She watched him do it to others. He had no use for stupid apprentices, or for those that did not –

"Because I didn't listen!" she cried as she understood suddenly. His fist stopped half an inch away from her face. It unclenched and slapped her cheek gently.

"Good. Lesson learned. Now, just so you don't forget it…"

His hand closed over the collar of her uniform and pulled down. The uniform ripped, staggering her. She knew what was coming. It was yet another lesson.

He didn't do it out of desire, or love, or lust. There were no feelings involved, not even the sating of primal needs. He was reminding her that she was his. Subjugated. Owned. Property. Somehow it made it even worse.

Finished, he rose off her, zipped himself up and left the room.

She hugged herself, her face streaked with tears of pain and humiliation. But the tears dried quickly and the look in her blue eyes became cold and determined.

 _You fucked up. You fucked up by making it clear to me what I have to do. Now I have where to go. Now I can get away from you. I will find her, and kill her, and make my name that way. And then I'm coming after you._

Her mind made up, she quickly changed into a new uniform and used makeup to hide the developing bruise under her eye. Satisfied, she left the safehouse and took a cab towards the office building they left no more than two hours ago.

* * *

The man sitting behind the large desk did not appear to have moved at all in the few hours since she was in his office. The only difference was that now he was in the company of a tall man dressed in a flowing white robe. He looked at her through shadowed eyes and rumbled.

"Why are you here?"

She remained silent, looking at the robed man. He noticed it and bowed deferentially to the man behind the desk, stepping back into the gloom, still there but now almost invisible, just a slightly glowing shadow of white. She wondered if he was also there while her Master was "renegotiating".

"You can speak freely. Why have you come?"

"You said you would look for a replacement. I am offering my services."

She couldn't see his eyes, but she could feel them studying her.

"You had a falling out with your Master" he said finally. It was not a question. She bit her lip.

His hands were still calmly clasped, resting on the desk. He did not fidget or gesture. His voice was expressive enough.

"Why should I hire you? You are an unknown. A nobody."

"I am good" she said with more confidence than she felt.

"That remains to be seen. And I may incur the anger of your Master if I hire you. Why should I put myself at such a risk?"

Her mind worked furiously. This was not going as she expected. An idea struck her.

"Because of the price" she said firmly. "I will do it for free. Just cover my expenses."

The man sat unmoving for a few seconds. She could almost feel his gaze boring into her skull.

"Very well."

She grinned, feeling a huge weight drop off her chest. She dug into her pocket and came up with a flash drive, tossing it onto the desk as she spoke.

"My dead drops and virgin phone numbers" she said, then watched in horror as the flash drive bounced on the surface of the desk to slide off and fall to the floor. Nobody moved to catch it. She bit back an apology; it would only make a bad situation worse. A few silent seconds passed, charged with tension.

The robed man appeared, bent and picked up the flash drive, delicately placing it on the desk and retreating back into the darkness.

"I will send you the instructions soon" the man behind the desk said coldly, dismissing her. She nodded, relaxing, and left the same way she came, keeping her exultation in an iron grip.

After a few seconds, certain they were alone, the robed man spoke.

"I do not understand, Lord."

The man behind the desk did not move. His answer was clipped and precise. "She will try to kill her."

"I realize that, Lord. But isn't that… dangerous?"

White teeth shone in a feral grin. It held no mirth. It was the grin of a hungry tiger.

"Rachel will squash her like a bug. And then she'll turn on who she thinks sent her. Then, once the smoke clears, I step in."

The robed man stood silent for a moment, then spoke. "Forgive me, Lord, I am but your humble servant, and I apologize for my seeming lack of faith, but…"

"If Slade kills her, it will mean I haven't prepared her well enough" the white-maned man replied ruthlessly. "But I do not make such mistakes."

The robed man bowed to his Lord again, then melted into the shadows.

* * *

He felt the scar over his right eye socket itch again. It was because he was irritated with her, he realized. He dismissed the feeling, knowing that the mask he was now wearing made it impossible to scratch in any case. But that only fed his irritation further until it threatened to become anger.

He squatted on the roof of a building, watching her as she wound her way back to the safehouse. Her face was expressive enough; she got what she came for. And he wasn't so stupid so as not to know what it was.

 _Time to look for a new apprentice,_ he thought. _Tara is too unstable. Too emotional. Too centered on her own desires and whims. She has the physical requirements for a good assassin, but not the mental ones. I thought I could shape her and mold her into what I wanted, but I made a mistake. Too bad._

He launched himself off the roof, landing with catlike grace on the next one, running quickly alongside and keeping her cab in his sight as he followed her. She changed cabs twice, going through shopping malls and alleys while she did it, keeping herself mingled within a crowd of humanity, melding in, confusing any pursuer.

Any but him.

She finally arrived to the safehouse. His face under the mask broke into an icy smile.

 _Let's make a final use of her. And let's give Mr. Mystery a surprise._

He took a cheap brick phone from a pocket and dialed a number.

A well-known, low and cold voice answered. "Yes?"

"My employer decided not to accept your terms."

"I see. In that case –"

"Wait. I do not work for employers that discard my advice. The contract no longer binds me."

There was silence on the other end.

"As is customary, the hostage will be under my responsibility until tomorrow. Where do you wish to take charge?"

"Leave her with Gizmo."

He chuckled. "Excellent choice. You do agree that your part in this is still pending?"

"Yes. I am on my way to the airport."

"Good. Once you have finished, the contract will be completely fulfilled. I have never failed to deliver what I have agreed to do, and I do not want to start now."

"I still need to know –"

"The identity of my employer is, and will remain, a secret. You know that I can't afford otherwise."

"I could make you talk" Rachel's voice came through with a heavy note of threat, even through the phone's speaker.

"Your chances of success would be below twenty percent" he said with another chuckle.

"I calculate them at thirty five" she said, deadpan.

"Overconfidence is dangerous" he snorted.

"I could say the same to you."

He laughed. "Oh, but you're one of a kind. I am really sorry I didn't run into you before. You'd make the perfect apprentice, Rachel."

There was a slight hesitation on the other side of the line. "If you had tried that, you'd already be dead and I would've taken your place."

"Maybe" he said, still chuckling softly. "One more thing. My employer will be getting a… replacement."

"That is obvious. Why are you telling me this?"

"Figure it out" he said and cut off the communication, heading for the roof entrance to the safehouse.

* * *

Rachel switched the phone off and looked blankly at the buildings filing by as the cab fought its way through the heavy traffic. A cold smile appeared on her face.

 _So, Mr. Wilson. You found a way to tell me who your employer was without saying so. Oh, I know you did it on purpose. You don't make that kind of mistakes. And you know as well as I do that there was only one person in the world that could connect my real name to my alias._

A deep frown wrinkled the smooth skin of her forehead.

 _I suspected it when Angela was kidnapped, but I couldn't be certain. Maybe because I just didn't want to believe that he would stoop so low to get what he desires. But now Slade gave me the final puzzle piece, the incontrovertible evidence. Now I know._

 _It was you behind it all this time, father._

The hand holding the phone convulsed, the pale knuckles whitening, the plastic casing squeaking in protest before it cracked.

 _I have tried to stay away from you. I have tried to live and let live. But you were never able to let go of something that you wanted. Not me, not mother. It's a question of pride for you. It is the only feeling that is pure in you._

She sighed deeply. _I hoped it would not come to this, but you forced my hand. Now I know that there is only one way to end your meddling in my life, father._

Her eyes became as hard and cold as the amethysts they so resembled.

 _And I am going to enjoy it._

* * *

The Boeing C-17 Globemaster III that the CIA requisitioned from the Air Force to fly them to Santiago de Chile was far from comfortable, but at least they had a lot of space. Garfield made much use of it, pacing along the cabin, full of nervous energy.

Stone followed him with his eyes, a small frown on his face.

"Simmer down, Tinkerbell. Get some sleep; you'll need to be rested when we get there."

Logan grumbled in response and continued his pacing.

"You'll walk a hole in the hull, Shrimp. The plane will crash and we'll all die horribly."

Rolling his eyes, Logan quit his pacing and sat down beside his partner. "It stinks, Cue Ball" he said quietly, to be barely heard above the pervasive roar of the engines.

Stone nodded. They were going to a foreign country, quite possibly to interfere with local law enforcement, almost certainly to act as judge, jury and executioner. Even if they themselves do not pull the trigger – he hoped Grayson was smart enough not to try and make them do it – they would be accessories to first-degree murder. Because that's what it was. The coldly calculated, premeditated killing of a person, no matter what she was suspected of doing, no matter what's the evidence against her.

On the surface, the idea was to use the last remaining Brotherhood leader, a mysterious man only known as "the Brain", as bait for the Raven. She already took care of all the others, this was the next logical target. Their job was to protect her target, catch her in the act and apprehend her. But they both shared the realization that a professional assassin like the Raven would never reach a court of law. She knew way too many secrets, could embarrass way too many governments. Including the US Government. If she were to be captured, she'll probably suffer an "accident" while being transported back to the US.

Logan stared at Grayson, letting his cop instincts take a good measure of the man. Not a cold-blooded killer, but still a man that could and did make hard decisions. And lived with them. Probably believing they were for the greater good. Logan snorted; he had his fill of the "greater good" shoveled at him day in and day out for years. Fuck him if he believed in any of that shit.

Grayson heard the snort and looked back at Logan, his eyes expressionless. Logan felt the anger rise in him, as it usually did when he found himself in such a situation.

"So, once we capture this chick, what happens? Car crash? Escape attempt?"

Grayson's brows knitted together. "You have a very low opinion of us, Logan" he commented dryly.

"You haven't given me a reason for anything else yet, company man! And you haven't answered my question!"

Grayson noted Stone's eyes were half-closed, but extreme interest and sharp intelligence shone between the heavy lids. He appeared to be dozing peacefully, but he was following the conversation very carefully.

"There are no plans for any 'accident', Logan. There is no need for such things. If we wanted her dead, we'd just put a bullet in her head. Two, actually. Better safe than sorry."

"I thought that was the original plan" Logan responded tauntingly. He hid a satisfied smirk, seeing that his words finally made Grayson's eyes darken in anger.

 _Yeah, I'm finally getting under your skin, stone-face. Gimme a few more hours and I'll have you spitting it all out without you even realizing it._

But Grayson was not a common street thug. He quickly reined in his anger, storing the entire episode in his memory for later analysis and evaluation. Logan was turning out to be extremely competent and dangerous. Maybe more than he had bargained for.

His frown cleared and his eyes went back to their expressionless gaze.

"The 'original plan' is to hopefully capture her alive, extract her from Chile and bring her in for debriefing. Later we'll most probably transfer her to an offshore holding facility."

"'Offshore' where, Grayson?" Stone queried, his face still looking as if he was half asleep. "Guantanamo? Poland? Romania? For how long? Under what sentence?"

Grayson frowned again, but his voice remained level. "That would depend on the results of the debriefing."

Logan glared at him, his eyes glowing and his voice angry.

"Debriefing?"

"Come _on,_ Logan!"" Grayson shouted, unable to control himself any more. "We're not the Spanish Inquisition!"

Logan started to rise from the bench, his fists balled up. "No, you're a lot more modern!" he shouted back. "Electricity, hallucinogens, spatial and temporal disorientation! Do you think we're idiots? Do you think we don't know what your kind deals in?"

Grayson's eyes narrowed and blood rushed to his face. For an instant he looked like he was going to spring up and resolve the issue physically with Logan. But he pulled himself together, relaxed back on the bench and regaled Logan with a thin smile.

"It's 'our kind' now, Logan."

Logan's eyes flashed, his hands went up and he stepped towards Grayson. In one fluid movement, Stone was up from the bench, arms wide, his bulk pushing Logan away and blocking his view of his adversary.

Stone grabbed his small partner's head in his huge hands and forced him to look into his eyes, not saying anything. The green fire in Logan's eyes died down slowly. Stone released him.

"I ain't working for that piece of shit, Victor. Not any more. Tell him to go fuck himself."

"Shut up, Gar. Get a grip on yourself. We're in shit up to our noses, and the only option we have right now is to not make any waves. OK?"

Logan kept staring into his partner dark, calm eyes. His fury diminished, but it did not disappear. It only cooled down, becoming cold, hard resolve.

"I'm gonna bury him when we're through with this shit, Cue Ball" he half-whispered.

Stone nodded and squeezed his shoulder. He then smiled at Logan and ruffled his hair affectionately with a heavy hand. Logan grinned; his partner just confirmed he'd be behind him one hundred and ten percent.

Grayson was gonna see some heavy shit coming his way soon enough.


End file.
